


Found (or The Thrilla in the French Villa)

by Nevermore_red



Series: Lost and Found [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 03:02:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6102667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevermore_red/pseuds/Nevermore_red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to my one shot, The Setup, where we find out how the trip to the French chateau turned out for our favorite duo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Found (or The Thrilla in the French Villa)

Sandor was second, third, and fourth guessing his agreement to meet Sansa in France. It had been two weeks since their 'date', and although they'd seen each other during that time, there hadn't been much physical contact. They'd both agreed to keep their...whatever the fuck it was quite until they were more comfortable with it. And also Sansa really wanted her weekend in France. It had all seemed like a fine idea in post orgasmic glow. But now...he wasn't so sure. It felt...romantic. And they'd only shagged once. Okay, so it was more like three times. Once again after the first time and again the next morning before he left. But they hadn't done it again. The most he'd gotten out of her was a good and proper snogging on his back deck with one hand up her shirt when she'd come over with Margaery one evening. He was more than willing to take her up against the wall, but then Bronn had cock blocked him without even realizing it by yelling out the back window that dinner was ready.

Despite his lack of sex with her he hadn't even considered finding it elsewhere, even if they hadn't put any sort of stipulations on their relationship. He didn't want anyone else. He knew for a fact Sansa was in the same boat. His little bird was not the type to indulge in casual one offs. And, also, she'd told him she wasn't.

Maybe he should have asked more questions about what she wanted out of him before he'd followed her off to the French countryside, although it was a little late for that now. Sansa had left the night before him since he had to work one more day. A black town car was waiting for him outside the airport, a uniformed man holding a sign that simply said Clegane standing beside it. He told Sandor it was private property and cabs weren't generally allowed to come up the drive so Sansa had sent him to pick Sandor up.

The chateau was small, or small as chateau's went. It looked more like a castle to him. Sansa had told him it was built in the early 1900's in the Neo-Gothic style. Two stories, 15 rooms, six of them bedrooms, and a six car garage with the caretakers quarters above it. It all set on twenty acres of land with breathtaking gardens and hundred year old trees. The property itself set outside the Loire Valley in a secluded park. The grounds were shrouded in a white and the sky hung low and grey overhead.

Standing outside the front steps as the driver and car drove off towards the garages, Sandor stared at the house for a long time. What in the bloody hell was he doing here? How in the hell had he ended up here? Him, a fucking boxing trainer who had spent the majority of his life in poverty. How in the ever loving fuck did he go from weekends spent in a sweaty gym or shady pub to standing in front of a damn castle in France?

Before he could contemplate on it too hard, or turn and run back down the drive, the massive oak door opened and Sansa was there, smiling at him and looking so damn happy to see him. There must be something wrong with her, which was really a shame. Maybe he should give her the number for his shrink over at the Quite Isle Institute for Mental Health. Later, he decided. For now, he would enjoy her lapse of mental stability.

"You made it!" she stepped outside, her feet making a crunching sound in the snow. "I was hoping your flight wouldn't get delayed because of the weather."

"It's not that bad." he glanced up at the grey skies. It wasn't doing anything. It was just dreary. "They don't delay flights just because it's winter."

"Of course not." she bent and picked up the duffle bag at his feet. "Come on, I'll show you around." She turned and took a step back towards the house, but he caught the strap of his bag and she stumbled back a step. Regaining her footing, she looked back at him with a confused expression.

"I'm more than capable of carrying my own shite." he tugged the bag again until she let it go.

"I'm well aware of that, Sandor." she said coolly, the look of joy that had filled her face when he'd first arrived dimming. Shite, what the fuck was he doing? Was he really trying to ruin a good thing out of some twisted self flagging perversion? That's what Dr. Brother would tell him, anyway. "I was only trying to help. You know, there's this thing called kindness." she spun around again and started back inside. "You should try it sometime."

Silently cursing himself he followed her through a gleaming foyer to the massive grand staircase that curved elegantly to the second floor. She walked past several closed door before stopping at one and pushing the door open.

"This is the master suite." he stepped into the large room. A massive four poster bed, complete with canopy and curtains, dominated the middle of the room. Cream paneled walls, exposed wood beam ceilings, shinning wood floors, and a large fireplace. The furniture was high end vintage, probably original pieces. "There's a bathroom through that door." she pointed to a closed door that almost blended in with the walls.

"This is where I slept last night." she took a slow, deep breath, then turned to face him. "If you'd rather, I can have one of the other rooms prepared."

Scowling, he dropped his bags. "Why would I want that? Wasn't the purpose of my being here was to warm your bed?"

"Yes, but..." she hesitated, then squared her shoulders. "But then you showed up looking and sounding like you'd rather be elsewhere. If you've changed your mind about this, about us, then that's fine. You're still more than welcome to stay here in another room, or, if you'd rather, you can go."

Letting out a sigh, Sandor rubbed his face with both hands. "It was a long flight. And a shite day at the gym yesterday." he said by way of an apology, or excuse really.

Her face softened and the tension she was holding herself with eased. "Well, I think I have the remedy for that." she grinned at him then reached out and grasped his hand, pulling him towards the closed bathroom door she'd indicated earlier. The bathroom looked like something out of a movie. The same paneled walls and wood floors as the bedroom, the room was bigger then his bedroom, bathroom, and living room combined. A marble counter with two sinks took up one whole wall, a vanity separating the two sinks. A stone shower grotto was along the opposite wall, next to the toilet. The wall directly across from him was completely taken up by a floor to ceiling circular stained glass window, and before it sat the biggest claw foot bathtub he'd ever seen.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Sansa smiled up at him.

"It's...big."

She laughed at that, then walked over to the tub. "There's bath salts, or oils, or even bubbles in that cabinet." she pointed next to the sinks. "You can take a bath and relax, then we can eat dinner."

Sandor nodded, then walked forward to where she stood, hooking one arm around her waist. "Will you be joining me in that bath?" he asked, lowering his face to her neck and kissing just under her ear.

"I can if you'd like." she breathed, both hands coming to rest on his shoulders.

"I'd like." he nipped her earlobe, then took a step back and started pulling off her shirt.

"Slow down." she chuckled. "Let me get the water started. It takes a bit to warm up." Pushing his hands away, she bent over the tub to turn on the taps. He stepped up behind her, pressing his groin into the cushion of her bottom and running both hands up and down her back. She sighed and shifted against him while she held her hand under the spout until the water was at the temperature she deemed correct, then stoppered the tub and stood up.

"I'm going to guess it's a no to bubbles." she grinned at him.

"You'd guess correctly."

"Would you be opposed to some salts?"

"As long as I don't come out smelling like a damn flower garden, I don't care." She laughed at him again, then went to the cabinet and pulled out a glass jar with yellow crystals in it. Scooping out a handful, she dropped it into the filling tub before replacing it and pulling two towels from the cabinet. The air immediately smelled like lemon. He sat on the edge of the tub and watched her as she started pulling her clothes off. Once she was down to her bra and knickers, both of which were a white lace, she grabbed a hair clip from the sink counter and piled her hair on top of her head. Turning, she found him watching her and blushed.

"Aren't you going to get undressed?" she asked. For some reason, he hadn't thought about that. He was too busy thinking about Sansa getting naked. She'd seen him starkers before, obviously, but it had been in her poorly lit bedroom, not this bright bathroom during the early evening. She must have noticed something in his expression because hers softened and she crossed the room to him, gently running her fingers through his hair.

"Have you changed your mind?" she asked quietly.

"Maybe." he stopped to clear his throat. "Maybe I should just do this alone."

She licked her lips and nodded, but held his face in both her hands and titled it up so he was looking at her. "Is it because of your scars?"

"They aren't pretty, Sansa."

"I've seen them before." she reminded him. "Remember?"

"Of course I fucking remember." he turned his face so she had to let go of him. "I also remember how dark it was."

"Your scars don't bother me." she said firmly, taking a small step back so she could easily look at him. "Everyone has some sort of scars. Nobody is perfect."

Yeah, well, most people didn't have as many as him.

"You look pretty fucking perfect to me." he grumbled.

"Thank you." she smiled sweetly. "But that's not true." one slim finger touched his chin and brought his attention back to her. "Would you like for me to show you?"

He wasn't sure what she was talking about, but he nodded anyway. She smiled again, then reached behind him to shut off the taps.

"Come here." she took his hand and led him to the chair at the vanity and pushed him to sit, then knelt in front of him.

"See this?" she pushed her hair back from her forehead and traced a small white line along her hairline. "Arya hit me with a stick when we were younger."

Standing up, she pulled her bra strap to the side and touched a perfectly round scar just under her collar bone. "A man named Boros Blount gave me this with the end of his cigar for talking too much."

Sandor snapped his eyes up to her face, a rush of anger washing through him. He opened his mouth to say something, but she shook her head and reached behind her to unhook her bra. His mouth went dry as she let the lace fall from her body. Her fingertips danced over the upper swell of each breast, tipped so prettily with soft pink nipples.

"See all these lines?" the manicured tip of one nail traced a faint white line. It took him focusing, but he did see that there were more of those lines around the globes of her breasts. "Stretch marks. I developed early, and rather quickly." she chuckled at her own words. He couldn't stop staring at them. Against her pale skin, they were almost invisible. But they were there. He reached a hand out to cup one breast, and she let him for a moment before removing his hand and taking a small step back.

"And this, here." she pointed to a more prominent scar above her right hip bone. "My appendix burst when I was sixteen. They had to remove it, and because of the infection that spread, they also took my right ovary and fallopian tube."

Sandor remembered two years ago Bronn had an appendicitis and had to have it removed. He was in a lot of pain, and his hadn't even burst. He couldn't imagine how much pain Sansa had been in. He idly wondered if the removal of her ovary and fallopian tube meant she couldn't have children.

He was brought out of those thoughts when she lifted her left leg and placed her foot on his thigh, pulling her knee to the side so her inner thigh was on display. At first he was too focused on her barely covered cunt to notice anything else. The shadow of her pubic curls were just visible through the white fabric. Her fingers touched the inside of her thigh just to the side of her knickers leg band. The scars there were jagged and rough, the healed flesh twisted. There were several all clumped together about as wide as four of his fingers together.

"They're his initials." she said softly. "He said he wanted to mark what was his."

It took him a moment to process what she was saying, but then he seen it. The scars weren't random. He could just make out the letters _JB_. Pure fury and anger swamped him. He grasped hold of her ankle on his leg and looked up at her. A sheen of tears glistened in her blue eyes.

"There's more." she whispered softly. "Belt marks he left on my bottom, and another scar on my back from where I was thrown from a horse."

"He hurt you that much?" he snarled, wishing he'd killed the cunt the night he found him.

"We're not here to talk about him." she gently touched his burnt cheek as she lowered her foot and took a step closer. "You see, Sandor. I'm not perfect. I'm flawed and scarred. Do my scars make you want me less?"

From the no fledging erection he was still sporting, he could confidently say no. "You're still fucking gorgeous, Sansa. A few little marks aren't going to make me want you any less."

She smiled, but there was an anxiousness in her gaze. "Even with another mans brand on my skin?"

Grabbing her hips, he yanked her forward between his spread thighs until her body was pressed fully against his. He tilted his head up the small distance he needed and kissed her hard and fast, his tongue swiping along hers and forcing her to react and engage.

"Fuck that cunt." he growled against her lips after a moment. "And fuck his brand." he reached between her thighs to cup her mound. "This isn't his. It's yours. And right now, you're giving it to me. No one else." Before she could respond, he kissed her again, swallowing what he suspected might be a sob from her mouth. He rubbed her from the outside of her knickers while he kissed her, his free hand cupping her breast and kneading it until her gusset was wet. Then he removed her sodden knickers and stood from the chair, his mouth pulling away from hers so he could bend forward slightly and pick her up.

"Your bath, Miss Stark." he carried her to the tub and gently sat her in the water.

"I think it was supposed to be your bath, Mr. Clegane." she giggled. He scowled at the address. He didn't like being called Mr. Clegane. It made him feel old. And, god damnit, he was not that old. 38 didn't make him elderly.

"I'll share it." he kicked his boots off and bent to remove his socks. "And I think you're forgetting your manners." He stood straight again and started removing his belt while he watched Sansa in the tub. He was aware that her scars didn't even hold a candle to his. She was still all soft perfection. But the fact that she so openly and bravely shown them to him helped to alleviate his concerns over his own body, especially since he could tell how hard some of them were for her.

A grin teased the corner of her mouth when she realized what he was talking about. "Sorry, sir. I won't let it happen again."

"I can always bend you over my knee after the bath." he shucked his trousers and pants in one go. "Teach you a lesson. You might have trouble sitting at dinner, but seeing your arse all red and warm would be worth it."

She blushed brightly and licked her lips. Her eyes were wide when they met his. She looked turned on, intrigued, but also a little scared.

"You wouldn't really hurt me, would you?" she asked.

"No, little bird." he assured her, then pulled off his shirt to stand before her completely naked. "Just enough to make you like it." he stepped up to the tub. "Scoot forward." When she did he stepped in behind her, settled against the curve of the tub, then pulled her back until she was leaning against his chest. She trembled faintly in his arms.

"I would never do anything you're uncomfortable with." he rasped in her ear before kissing it. "I may be a right prick, a dog after all, but I'll never do a damn thing to you that you don't want. I'm not that sort of bastard."

She was silent for a long time, and he kept his hands firmly on the edges of the tub until she let him know she understood.

"I know you aren't." she finally said, tilting her head so she could see him. "Have you done it before?"

"What, spanked someone?" he let his hands drop down into the water and rest on her belly. One of his hands was big enough to span from the top of her pubis to just under her breasts.

"Yes."

"Not often, but I know how to do it so you'll enjoy it." he let one hand drift down to her hip, then along her thigh. "If you don't want to try it, just say so. And if you want to try it and end up not liking it, say stop and I'll stop."

"I don't need a safe word, like stoplight colours or something?"

Sandor couldn't help his chuckle as he traced his fingers back down her inner thigh. "That's usually for people who are really into sex games or pain play. We can always try more intense games later, but I'm not a sadist. I don't enjoy causing pain. This is more for if you don't like it or it's not getting you off. Just tell me to stop and I'll stop. No need for code words."

"Oh." she whispered on a breath as his fingers danced over her wet curls without really touching her. "That sounds...simple enough."

Smiling, sure she couldn't see the twisted mess it caused is face to look like, he started nibbling her neck as the hand on her belly slid up to cup one of her breasts. Grabbing hold of her curls he tugged gently, then let one finger slip between her folds. Sansa gasped and arched into his hands, then abruptly spun around so she was on her knees between his thighs facing him.

"What..." With a grin, she leaned forward and kissed his lips.

"This is your bath." she reminded him, then leaned over to the small table that sat behind his head and grabbed a flannel. "You're supposed to be relaxing." Curious to see what her plans were, he leaned back and draped both arms on the sides of the tub. She wet the flannel and then soaped it up. Using both hands she began washing his chest and shoulders with firm hands. It felt amazing. He let his head drop back to the edge of the tub and watched her through half closed eyes as she methodically massaged/washed his upper body, grinning when she seemed delighted by his chest hair, then groaning when she spent more time the necessary washing his nipples.

"Easy, girl." he rumbled, but it lacked bite. He was too relaxed to muster up his usual bitterness.

"Sorry, sir." She didn't look sorry at all, actually. She looked very pleased with herself. He'd let her have her fun for now. He planned on showing her just who was in charge. But after the bath. Maybe after dinner. And maybe a kip. He wasn't lying when he said he'd had a shite day at the gym, and he always hated flying. It put him in too close of quarters with other people. When was the last time he took a nap? Hells, when was the last time he had someone that cared he'd had a rough day and was willing to take care of him? For the moment, he'd focus on all the things Dr. Brother had told him about letting people in and let Sansa care for him.

 

*

 

Sansa smiled to herself when his eyes finally drifted shut. He looked exhausted and tense. It pleased her greatly that he was willing to relax with her. Tossing the flannel to the side, she picked up the soap bar and began washing his abs and lower stomach under the water. He hummed low in his throat, but his eyes didn't open. Smiling, she skipped over the impressive erection he was sporting and started washing his thighs. When she came to the large scar where the muscle seemed to be missing, she gentled her touch, unsure if it would be tender or not.

"Does this hurt, sir?" she asked softly, glancing up to find his eyes open once again.

"No." he mumbled, sounding half asleep. "And we aren't shagging." he let his eyes fall closed. "Don't call me sir."

Sansa grinned, but gave him a nod as she started washing his legs once again, scooting back so she could reach his calves and then his feet, which she massaged more than washed. He groaned and sank further into the water when she dug her thumbs into his arch.

"Shite, that's good." he groaned again. Once she was finished, she ran both of her hands up his legs and stopped at the dip of his hip bones. Lathering her hands up good, she sat the soap aside and reached under the water and grasped his erection. He sucked in a startled breath and his eyes flew open.

"Would you like me to finish relaxing you?" she asked, slowly running her slick hands up and down his length. "Or should I stop?"

"Coming in the tub from a hand job sounds like something a swotty teenager would do." he grumbled, but his hips lifted into her hands.

"I could always..." she flushed and bit her lip, gathering up the courage to finish her sentence. "You know, get on you. And, well, we could have sex. Like that."

"You want to ride me?" he clarified with a wicked grin.

"I want you to stay relaxed. You wouldn't have to do anything." His jaw worked for a minute, his hips continually flexing into her hands.

"I don't have a condom in here." he finally said, sounding a little put out by that.

"Alright." she leaned forward and kissed his chest. "Just close your eyes and relax. I'll use my hands."

Sansa figured he wanted to argue, but she gave him a firm squeeze and picked up her pace and the air, and the fight, seemed to go out of him. He was stunning in the abandon of pleasure. His hands gripped the edge of the tub until his knuckles turned white, his jaw locked tightly, the muscles of his arms and chest stood out. Then, all of the sudden, his big body heaved out of the water a little, his mouth dropping open with a grunt that almost sounded like he was in pain. His erection throbbed in her hands and she tore her eyes away from his face to watch the water turn milky as he came. With a sigh, he went relaxed again, his eyes blinking open slowly.

"That was amazing." she whispered, gently petting his slowly softening penis. He chuckled at that, wiping a hand over his face.

"Aye, that is was." he looked down at her hands on him under the water, then gently pushed them away. "I don't fancy sitting in come water, though, so lets get out."

Once they were out and dried, Sansa wrapped a towel around her and went back to the bedroom to get out clean knickers. Forgoing a bra for now, she slipped on a loose tee and leggings. Sandor pulled on clean pants and a grey t shirt before dropping on the edge of the bed.

"You can take a nap if you'd like." she went to him and kissed his forehead while he reached around and cupped her bottom.

"You kipping with me?" he nuzzled his face into her breasts as he spoke.

"No." she giggled. "I'm going to go down and make sure everything is ready for dinner."

"What're you cooking?" he rubbed his nose against her nipple and Sansa gasped.

"I'm not. There's a cook on staff."

Abandoning her hardened nipple, he tilted his head back to look at her. "You don't cook?"

"I can if I have a detailed recipe that I can follow step by step." she grinned impishly and shrugged. "So, sleep or not?"

"Kip, and then food." he stood and kissed her until her head spun a little. "And then you."

~

Sansa went back upstairs an hour later to wake Sandor up for dinner. When she got to the bedroom, he was laying on his stomach on top of the covers, one long leg hanging off the side of the bed, his other knee bent to the side. With his head turned away from her, she couldn't see his face, but he'd taken his shirt off at some point and was only in his pants, grey this time. No vivid yellow. With only the light from the bathroom spilling into the room, it was fairly dark, but she could plainly see the scars that marred his back, much like the ones that did his chest, but they were longer and thinner. Like maybe he'd been whipped at some point. It made her heart ache.

Tip toeing to the side of the bed, she sat down on it's edge and was starting to reach out a hand to touch his shoulder when he spun around suddenly and sat up, her wrist caught in the viselike grip of his hand. Before she could blink, or even gasp, his other hand was holding her throat, not enough to cut off her breathing, but enough to scare her. Wide eyed and starting to shake, Sansa almost starting crying. In the dim lighting, she could just barely make out his face. In the next second, he seemed to realize who she was and where he was. Both hands immediately fell away from her as his eyes blinked several times.

"You startled me." he said after another beat. His voice, always so raspy, was even worse upon waking.

Sansa swallowed several times, trying to calm her racing heart. "So I did."

Sandor scooted back away from her, both hands running over his face. "I...I didn't mean to scare you. Or hurt you. I don't," he broke off and cleared his throat. "Sleep leaves a man weak. Vulnerable. My life, or it's past anyway, has never been conducive to either of those traits."

Sansa stayed quite for a moment, taking in what he said. She figured it was the best sort of apology she could expect out of him. It didn't take a very intuitive person to see that Sandor had lived a rough life, and that it still effected him greatly in everyday life, especially when it came to personal relationships and emotions. Sliding up the bed a little to sit closer to him, she put a cautious hand on his knee.

"Is it something you'd like to talk about?" she asked gently.

He stared at her intently for several moments, then his head shook tightly. Her heart sank just a little.

"Alright, then." she started to stand. "Supper is..." she cut off with a squeak of surprise when she was suddenly on her back, Sandor looming over her.

"I don't want talk about it." he rasped against her mouth before kissing her deeply. "I talk about it twice a fucking week with Dr. Brother." his mouth traveled down her cheek and jaw to nip and tease her neck. "Talking has made it better." he continued talking while his hands slid under her shirt to palm her breasts. "Moved it past an unrelenting nightmare to just a life experience that's now over." he sat up away from her only long enough to slip her leggings and knickers off. He spread her thighs, rough hands coasting over the sensitive flesh on the insides.

"This." he said low, his thumbs touching her outer lips and pulling them apart. "This is where it goes completely away." He kept one hand on her hip and the other went to his pants and eased them down enough that his erection was free. Sansa, choked up from his words, merely opened her arms to him as he fell on her, thrusting inside with a desperate move of his hips. It hurt a little, she wasn't really prepared enough for him, but it wasn't enough for her to ask him to stop, not when he seemed so lost in a past he didn't want to remember. Not when she could offer him a little bit of comfort and peace, even if it was only with her body.

 

*

 

Sandor's brain had all but shut down. Dreams of fire and fear and war had been a nightly occurrence in the past. Since he'd gone to the Quite Isle Institute they'd lessened, but they still came to him a times. Sansa had disrupted one of them, and he'd lashed out, fearful of his life and striking first. Then she'd been so sweet, forgiving, and understanding. He didn't want to talk about it. He wanted to loose himself inside of her. The warmth of her body fading everything else to black.

Bowing his head into her neck, he buried the past and the pain and the torment into her willing body.

"Sandor." her voice drifted through the fog of pleasure he was floating in. "Sandor, please." she tugged at his hair until he lifted his head. He immediately stilled the thrusting of his hips. "You're not wearing anything." she whispered, her fingers dancing across the planes of his face. It was then he realized he could feel every silky wet inch of her wrapped around his cock.

"Shite." he immediately pulled himself free of her body. "I'm clean, I promise. The boxing admin requires biannual blood work. And I've never once not used protection with a woman." he winced and looked down at his naked cock resting on her folds. "Until now."

"It's alright." she petted his head. "I believe you. And I am as well, but..." she trailed off, biting her bottom lip. "But I'm not on birth control."

"That's fine." he took over biting her lip for her. "I think I owe you one anyway."

Reaching down between their bodies, he cupped his fingers around the head of his erection so he could force his length between her folds as he started thrusting again, his finger creating a V around the nub of her clitoris, pinching it slightly as he kept thrusting against her.

"Oh, gods." she whimpered, her hands clutching at his shoulders. "Don't stop. That feels..." she trailed off on a moan and Sandor picked up the pace a little, arching his hips so the head of his cock dragged over her clit while his fingers kept the pressure on either side of it. She was still wearing her shirt, so he shoved it up over her breasts so he could bend forward and suck one hardened nipple in his mouth.

"Uuhh." her hands abandon his shoulders to hold his head. Sandor couldn't help the grin that tugged the corners of his mouth. Who would have thought that the sweet, perfect lady Sansa Stark would enjoy a half clothed humping from a man like him? But she was enjoying it, there was no question about that. Not when she was getting so wet he was having to work real hard at keeping enough friction for her to get off. He kept his thrusts short, keeping the knob of his cock away from her opening, lest he should give into temptation and slip inside of her.

Releasing her nipple with a pop, he licked up her throat to her ear, nibbling on the lobe of it. "Work against me, little bird." he rasped in her ear. "Do what feels good and take what you need."

"You feel good, Sandor." she panted, arching her hips up into his thrusts. "So good. Please don't stop, sir. I'm so close."

He grinned at the 'sir'. He was starting to think maybe she liked it more than he did.

"No plans on stopping." he assured her. "Not until this little button starts to throb between my fingers and you coat my cock in your sweet release."

"Yes." she whispered, her nails digging into his shoulders.

"That's right." he caught her nipple and rolled it between his fingers while he kept his mouth to her ear. "Let it feel good. Let me make you feel good."

"I want to come." she whimpered. "Can I, sir? I'm so close."

Shocked by her need for permission, Sandor pulled back and looked down at her face. Cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes glazed and bright, a pleading look in them. He would have never guessed Sansa was such a submissive.

"Yes, Sansa." he nipped her chin lightly. "Come. Cover my cock with..." His words were cut off at her sharp cry, her nails piercing his skin enough to draw blood. Her hips lifted into his and ground so hard against him he was sure his dick would be sore afterwards. Watching her come was the best thing he'd ever witnessed. Neck arched, eyes unfocused, lush mouth falling open.

Stunning. Absolutely stunning.

Slowing his hips and removing his hand once she winced at his touch, he dropped one last kiss to her still parted lips before rolling to her side. He gave her a minute to regain her breathing, and thought of every unappealing thing he could.

The gym's head after hours. That time he seen Varys naked in the showers. Cold showers. Fuck, packing snow down his pants. _Varys_ packing snow down his pants for him.

Once he had his libido under control, and he was about to come from nothing, he reached over to pat her thigh.

"Dinner." he stood up from the bed, tucked his still raging erection back into his pants as best he could, then put the rest of his clothes on, not bothering with the buttons of his trousers. Sansa moved slower than he did, sitting up on the bed after he'd gotten his trousers on and was pulling his shirt over his head.

"You want..." she shook her head a little to clear it. "You want to eat dinner now?"

"I do." he scooped up her knickers and tossed them at her. "Let's go. You never got around to showing me where everything is so I don't know where I'm going." Sansa shook her head with a look of disbelief, but stood up and slipped on her knickers before doing the same with her leggings and ridiculously fuzzy socks.

"Ready yet?" he asked. "I'm starving."

"Yes, yes." she mumbled. "Let's go."

After dinner, some fancy arse chicken and pasta dish, he helped Sansa carry the dishes to the kitchen sinks where the maid would take care of them later. Then Sansa took him throughout the house, showing him all the room, recounting all the history and stories behind each. Going back to the first floor, she led him to the back of the house and opened two stained glass French doors.

"This is my favorite room." she smiled, clicking on the light. A crystal chandelier came to life above them. The room was two stories high, mahogany walls and a ornate spiral staircase that led to the second level. Floor to ceiling books lined most of the walls, a large oak desk sitting in front of the patio doors that opened to the moonlight snow covered grounds.

"Most of the volumes are in French, some in Latin even, but there's a whole section of English novels and works on the second story."

"I take it you like to read, then?" he asked, looking around the library again before glancing down at her. He didn't miss her wide eyed look of awe as she smiled at the room.

"Of course." she looked up at him. "Don't you?"

"I don't read much, and I for damn sure can't read Latin. But, sure. I'm a Scot, so of course I've read most of Doyle's work. I tend to fancy Poe or Vern more so, though." he looked at her shocked, slightly agape mouth and grinned.

"Close your mouth, little bird." he touched her chin. "Did you think me illiterate?"

"No, of course not." she assured him quickly. "It's just..." she stopped to laugh. "You really like Edgar Allan Poe?"

He gave her a long suffering look. "A dark, slightly unstable, drunkard with a penchant for horror and mystery. Of course I like Poe. 'Sides, there wouldn't be a Sherlock Holmes if it weren't for him, now would there?" She laughed at that, free and light and he found himself greatly enjoying it.

"True. You said you couldn't read Latin, does that mean you can read French?"

"Read it, understand it, and speak it. That along with Arabic and Kurdish, and a little German." This time her mouth fell all the way open.

"What? Really? How...I had no idea you were so..." she trailed off and he scowled a little.

"What? Educated? I was a translator for the army." he crossed his arms and moved to lean back against the desk. "Whatever impression you got, girl, I'm not a fucking dolt. I graduated primary school, then four years of Uni before being deployed."

What he wasn't going to tell her at that moment was books, and education in general, offered him an escape from the horror that had been his childhood. Only after he'd been discharged from the Army did that vise slip into the need for whiskey to escape. After a year spent with Dr. Brother, and close to eight months off the bottle, he was slowly turning back to reading, though he found little time for it.

Sansa stared at the floor for a long moment, then slowly walked towards him, lifting her chin so her eyes met his.

"I'm sorry." she said softly. "You're right. I know very little about you. I never meant to insult you, and I've never considered you to be a dolt." she gently placed her hands on his chest, then grinned slowly. "You think you might want to christen this library with me?" she grazed her hands up to his neck, her fingertips teasing his skin. "Margaery goes on and on about how boring this room is. The next time I'm here with her I'd like to imagine something rather illicit while she's complaining."

"I think that could be arranged." he reached behind her and grabbed hold of the soft curves of her arse, pulling her body into his.

Luckily, he'd prepared this time and shoved four condoms in his trouser pocket. Just in case. He removed one and put it on the desk by his hip before they started undressing each other with the frequent interruptions of hands and lips and tongues and teeth. Finally he had her bent over the desk, the front of her body pressed down against the wood while he knelt between her splayed legs and feasted on her.

"Tell me when your close." he said against her wet folds, two fingers buried inside of her while his tongue worked her little clit with a steady back forth motion. No more than fifteen seconds later she was calling out his name.

"Oh, Sandor." one hand flew behind her to grasp his hair. "I'm close, sir. So close."

Replacing his tongue with his thumb to keep up the gentle pressure, he stood up. With his free hand, he lined himself up and then slid inside her wet heat, groaning at how fucking perfect it felt. Her arms stretched out above her head and grasped the other side of the desk. Once he was all the way in, he smoothed his hand up her spine, then grasped a handful of her hair, pulling her head up a little ways from the desk. She gasped at the action, her sheath clenching even tighter around him.

"I already know how prettily you can sing for me, little bird." he grunted as he started thrusting into her. "Let's see if you can be a wolf as well." he leaned forward, pulling her head back towards him at the same time, until his lips were on the exposed nape of her neck. "Howl for me, wolf girl." he bit down on the soft skin of her neck, his fingers on her clit grabbing the little nub and rolling it as he pounded into her.

The noise that she made as her pussy clamped down on his length was as close to a howl as he'd ever heard a woman make while being fucked, her back arching violently, one arm reaching around to grab hold of his hair, pulling hard enough to sting. He just bit down harder, thrust even harder, giving in to the pressure in his balls and spilling into the condom, shoving his length as far inside of her as he could get.

Later, when they returned to the master bathroom to shower together, he knelt on the wet tile while water sluiced over them, and kissed the bruises on her hips from where the desk edge had pressed into her skin. Then properly apologized for the rough treatment with his mouth and fingers. After she came that first time, he stood up and turned her around so her breasts pressed into the cold tile so he could gently sooth the bruise on her neck that he'd left with his teeth, unable to deny the primitive satisfaction it gave him to see his mark on her. It wasn't like he was alone in it. He bore her marks as well in the moon shaped scratches on his shoulder blades.

After they were both fully sated and clean, they got out and haphazardly dried and stumbled to bed. Sansa put up a pitiful excuse for a struggle at sleeping starkers, but didn't say a word against him curling up behind her naked arse. She fell asleep before he did and he took the quiet few moments to enjoy the feel of her soft, warm body against his. Even though he was unable to get hard again, he wasn't a hormonal teen anymore after all, he couldn't resist rubbing his soft, and well worn, cock against the silky mounds of her bottom until sleep finally over took him.

 

*

 

Sansa walked around the next day with a permanent smile on her face despite the tenderness of her lady parts and hips. Sandor had woken her up with soft touches and kisses that quickly turned into rougher and more urgent actions. He made the lewd promise of shagging her in every bloody room in the house before they left in two days. By the time they'd finished eating lunch, he'd made good on four. The dinning room, the game room, the parlor, and, after the cook left, the kitchen counter. Once they'd cleaned up and redressed, she talked him into bundling up and going out for a walk around the grounds. The gardens weren't near as breathtaking during the winter as they were in spring, but the woods that edged the property were absolutely stunning covered in snow.

Sandor, being Sandor, moaned and complained and generally acted like a grump, cursing the cold wind, the lack of sun, and how his toes were frozen. Sansa, being Sansa, ignored his attitude and resolutely forced both herself and him to enjoy the outing. Asking him to help her build a snowman was met with a death glare, so Sansa told him it was alright, but when he looked away, she scooped up a handful of snow and balled it up before throwing it at him. The snowball hit him in the chest and he stared at the wet spot for a long moment. Sansa's mirth died a little, worry niggling in her belly. Maybe she shouldn't have done that. Sandor was not a jovial sort of man. What she'd meant as a bit of playful teasing might have offended him and angered him.

"Oh, you are going to get it, girl." he looked down at her and there was a twinkling in his grey eyes she'd never seen before. One that cause her to burst out into giggles. Spinning on the heal of her boot, she took off running, her laughter ringing through the air. A snowball hit her square in the back, another one barely missing her head before she took refuge behind a tree and knelt to gather up her own snow for defense. Having two at the ready, she peaked around the tree, her panting breaths steaming the air before her. She couldn't see Sandor anywhere. Cautiously stepping around the tree, she looked around for any sign of him, a huge grin on her face.

"Sandor?" she called. "Where are you?" How could she have lost him? He was over seven foot tall, and dark. He should stand out against the snow like a beacon.

"Boo." she jumped and squealed at his breath against her ear. Before she could spin around to face him, he pulled back the neck of her jacket and sweater and dropped a small snowball down her back. Sansa arched her back, yelping as the icy snow slithered down her spine.

"Oh, you horrid man!" she laughed and spun around, arm up to shove the snowball in his face, but he was gone. How could a man his size move that fast and that quiet?

"Sandor Clegane!" she yelled in her best 'mom' voice. "You come out here right this instant, mister!"

"Don't you mean sir?" she jumped again, this time spinning around to face him before he could disappear again.

"We aren't shagging." she grinned, then threw her first snowball, which hit him in his shoulder. She lifted her arm to throw the second, but he broke and ran for her before she could even turn and try and flee. They landed with a soft thud in the snow, her stocking cap slipping from her head. Sandor caught his own weight, stopping himself from squashing her.

"You don't play fair." she laughed.

"Never said I did." he brushed her hair and a few flakes of snow from her face.

"It's freezing down here." she said, a little breathless from running about.

"Let me warm you up." he rumbled, then dropped his mouth to hers and kissed her until she was certain the snow beneath her was melting from the heat of it. When he lifted away from her, his eyes were warm and soft, his lips red and a little puffy. She smiled at him, one gloved hand coming to cup his scarred cheek, the other she brought behind his head.

Then she smashed the second snowball to the back of his exposed neck. He let out a yelp, sitting up quickly and trying to brush the cold snow from his skin. Sansa took that opportunity to roll out from under him and take off for the safety of the house.

"You'll pay for that, Sansa!" he shouted behind her, but she kept flying. Bursting through the front doors with uncontrollable laughter, she quickly kicked off her wet boots at the entry way and kept running up the stairs, peeling off the wet clothing and dropping it as she went. By the time she reached their bedroom, she was completely starkers, her entire body covered in gooseflesh, her damp hair clinging to her back and neck. Sandor must have slowed down once he got to the house and seen her breadcrumb trail of clothing, or else he would have captured her long before she made it to the bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed, trembling slightly, and waited for him. It was only a few moments before Sandor stepped in the door, wearing only those yellow pants.

"You left quite a mess for the maid out there." he quipped as he stalked towards her, his eyes glued to her naked breasts.

"It looks like you added to it." she whispered.

"Might be." he stopped once he reached her, his legs brushing her knees. Reaching out a hand, he trailed a finger down her cheek. "You're trembling."

"It was cold out there."

He nodded and stepped back. "Let's get under the covers." he pulled the blankets down and Sansa settled under them. He dug into the nightstand drawer and sat out a condom before joining her.

He was oddly silent as he kissed her, his hands slower, gentler than they had been. He maneuvered them around until she was on her back and was hovering over her. Pulling back enough that he could look down at her, he watched his hands blaze a slow trail from her chest, across her breasts, down her torso, to her hips. Then he traveled that same path with his lips, detouring here and there to tease her nipples, sucking each gently, stroking with his tongue. Or her navel, where he dipped his tongue inside and traced the shallow circle. Then he nibbled both her hip bones. All the while, his hands smoothed up and down her thighs, the outsides, the tops, the insides, until his fingers finally met her apex and he drew soft, lazy circles around her clit until it swelled almost painfully.

"Please, sir." she whispered, threading her fingers through his hair and pulling his face away from her collarbone.

"Sandor." he corrected, pressing a finger inside of her. "No sir for now."

For some reason, he softly spoken words put a lump in her throat. Swallowing against it, she nodded her understanding. Looking up into his eyes, she seen something different there. Not only the absence of rage, but a softness, a weary uncertainty and vulnerability. Her breath caught in her throat and she couldn't look away from him as he pressed another finger inside of her and crooking them slightly.

"Please, Sandor." she cupped his face in both of her hands. "Now."

He nodded and kissed her, thrusting his fingers a few more times before removing them and replacing them with his erection. He pulled his lips away from hers to watch her face as he slid inside of her. Once he was in all the way, he shifted their positions, shoving one arm under her neck while the other dug under her lower back, bringing every inch of their bodies into contact as he took her slowly. Sansa clung to him, rolling her hips into his lazy motion.

He was never silent during sex. Never. But he hadn't said anything. There was too much in his gaze. Too much for her to sort through. Whatever it was, it knocked loose something in her chest. It warmed her, filled her, made her feel light and heavy all at once.

"Where have you been?" she whispered, her throat too tight for much more. He started breathing harder, his arms tightening around her.

"I don't know." he admitted with a grunt.

"I think," she stopped to whimper when a wave of pleasure washed through her. "I think I've been looking for you," a shaky breath, a soft sob. "For so long."

"I'm here." he rasped, tilting his head forward to brush his nose along the trail of her tears. "I'm right here."

 _For how long?_ Her heart asked.

"Don't stop." _Stay with me_. "Sandor, don't stop."

"Yes, sweet little bird." he put his face into her neck, his breath warming her skin. "Come for me. Make me feel you. Show me. Show me how much you want me."

"Yes." she gasped, squeezing him tighter as her orgasm overtook her. "Yes, gods Sandor, yes."

He followed a hairsbreadth behind her. His grip on her was almost painfully tight. The warmth of his body almost stifling. The sweat of their bodies was making them sticky. But she didn't care. She held him back just as tight, her face buried in his shoulder as she tried to reign in her tears.

~

Supper that night was a wonderful bacheofe with chocolate mouse for desert, which Sandor insisted they eat with their fingers instead of spoons. Or, more to the point, feed each other with their fingers. It was decadent and lovely and Sansa felt warm and content. They didn't speak of what had happened in the bedroom after their snowball fight, but he also wasn't freaking out or pushing her away, which she'd been worried about. Instead, they ended up in then entertainment room. Sandor was watching some boxing match, apparently completely at ease with the fact it was in French. But, then again, he spoke French. Sansa was laying with her head on the pillow she'd placed in his lap, a Bronte novel open on her bent knees.

"Why aren't you on birth control?" His question, asked after a long stretch of silence, caught her off guard.

"What was that?" she asked, tipping her chin up to look at him.

"I asked why you didn't take birth control."

"Oh." Sansa let her book fall onto her stomach so it held her place. "Well, since I lost my ovary and fallopian tube it's going to be hard for me to get pregnant. Most birth controls come with the risk of reducing your ability to conceive, so I never wanted to take that chance." she shrugged. "Besides, until you, I hadn't been sexually active in over a year."

Sandor was silent for a long minute, seemingly going back to his fight, so Sansa turned her attention back to her book.

"You want kids, then?" he asked quietly. When she looked up at him, he wasn't looking at her.

"Sure." she shrugged. "Some day. Not anytime soon, of course. And there's always the chance I wont be able to with only one working ovary." she rolled a little to look at him better. "What about you? Don't you want a family some day?"

"No." he said curtly, leaving no room for more questions.

"Who's Dr. Brother?" she asked softly, unsure if this was any better of a topic. Pewter eyes flashed down to her face. "You said you talk to Dr. Brother twice a week."

"He's my shrink." he said bluntly, watching her face for her reaction. "I have PTSD and anxiety issues, as well as being a recovering alcoholic. I've been seeing Brother for a little over a year."

"He's helped you?"

"He has." he scrubbed a hand over his scars. "I'm not a pleasant man, Sansa, but I'm not the raging, drunk, unreachable person I used to be."

"Is, is he the only one you've talked to about...whatever it is that happened to you?"

He sighed and rolled his shoulders. "It's not something I enjoy talking about. It happened a long fucking time ago and it ruined the majority of my life. I talk about it with him because I need to." he looked down at her. "It was war, Sansa. Killing and dying and destruction. But I was already gone before then. Fire..." his voice wavered slightly on the word. "Fire took me, burned away what little humanity remained. A checked out ma, a father that didn't care. A brother...a brother who set the blaze. A sister I never even knew."

Tears blurring her vision, Sansa sat up and scooted close to him, her forgotten book falling to the floor. "Sandor, I'm..."

"Don't." he snarled, hands gripping her shoulders. "Don't pity me, Sansa. I don't want your fucking sympathy."

"That's not up to you." she leaned into his touch. "You don't get to choose who cares for you, Sandor. Bad things happened to you. It's human nature, _my_ nature, to feel pain for the pain you've experianced. Empathy, not sympathy." she reached for his face. "Surely Dr. Brother has told you that before."

"He told me to let people in." he rasped. "And I'm fucking trying, Sansa. I'm really fucking trying."

Sansa smiled at him and nodded, knowing that was more than she could ask from him.

 

*

 

Sandor made good on his promise and managed to fuck Sansa in every room of the chateau before they left. The airport was awkward. It seemed reality had intruded on their break from the world. Their seats weren't near each other on the flight home, which only took an hour. They met back up when they reached London, but all the easy comfort that they'd managed to gain in France seemed to evaporate.

"So, uh, I guess I'll hear from you soon?" she asked when they were in front of the line of cabs.

"Sure." he nodded. "I'll give you a call."

She smiled weakly, looking as if she had doubts about that, and went on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Goodbye, then." she tossed her bag into the backseat of the cab and gave him one last smile before she drove away.

Sandor didn't call her. Not right away. He was at a loss as to what the fuck had happened in France. How he felt, the magnitude of it, scared him. It took four hours with the doc for him to admit that. He didn't like being scared, especially of someone as small and nonthreatening as Sansa Stark. But within her tiny little body she held the power, the ability, to completely crush what heart he'd managed to rebuild within him.

He also had the distinct impression that if he didn't pursue her, he'd loose his chance to actually be whole again. Basically he was fucked either way.

It took him a month before he finally grew some fucking balls and contacted her. It had been fairly easy to avoid her up until then. He just stayed out of the house when Marg came over, and he stopped going out with Bronn. It wasn't that he didn't want to see her. He did, more than he'd like to admit actually, but he didn't want to until he got his own feelings sorted out. And he'd needed Dr. Brother for that.

_"She's too sweet."_

_"There's no such thing."_

_"She's too young."_

_"You aren't old."_

_"She needs someone wealthy, with a good name."_

_"Don't you think she should have a say in that?"_

_"She wants a family, kids. I can't give her that."_

_"The hell you can't, boy. The question is, do you want to?"_

Maybe he did. It was definitely something he was willing to talk about, especially with her. He had this embarrassing notion that he'd likely give her anything she wanted.

So, that's how he found himself outside her building on a Saturday morning when Bronn finally told him enough was enough, and to go fucking do something about it and stop being a prat.

It took several tries at ringing her flat before the speaker finally crackled with her voice.

"Can I help you?" her voice sounded raspy, like she'd been sleeping.

"It's me, little bird. Can I come up?" There was a long, tense moment when nothing happened. Then a click sounded at the door and he pulled it open. He didn't have to knock when he reached her flat, she was already standing at the open door. His chest twisted painfully as he looked at her. She was wearing soft yellow cotton shorts with blue pinstripes and a UCL t shirt. Her hair was in a braid over her shoulder, her eyes still puffy from sleep.

"I didn't mean to wake you." he said awkwardly.

"Maybe try for a later time then seven in the morning then." she turned away from the door, leaving it open for him, so he followed her into the kitchen. "You want some tea or something?"

"No, I'm fine." She poured herself a mug, then added milk and sugar before turning to face him, her hip leaned against the counter.

"Was there something you actually wanted?"

He nodded, swallowing hard. "I was lost. I've been lost most of my life. It never bothered me before. It didn't matter, because no one gave a ruddy arse anyway. But, then you came along. And you found me and I didn't know if I wanted to be found. So I...I needed some time. I needed a fucking minute to figure out what the fuck I wanted, and I've come to the blinding realization that I did want to be found." he looked at her, willing her to see, to understand. "I want to be found. And I want you."

Sansa was silent for a few minutes, blinking rapidly against a sheen of tears. With a shaky hand, she sat her tea down.

"Well," she sniffed, then smiled at him. "What in the bloody hell took you so long?"

Sandor laughed, a real laugh that made his chest shake. Could she be any more perfect? Could he have actually considered that he could go on the rest of his miserable life without this slip of a ginger girl in his life? Maybe he was a dolt after all. He'd gladly spend the rest of his life rectifying that lapse of sense. And he started then, by pulling her into his arms and kissing her until he was certain they were breathing the same air.

"Come on, little bird." he tugged her in the direction of her bedroom. "It's too bloody early and I've slept like shite for long enough."

"I concur." she giggled. "Far too long."


End file.
